


wild & savage

by WeeBeastie



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bickering, Canon Disabled Character, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Happy Ending, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Pirate Santa, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 03:59:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17073047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeeBeastie/pseuds/WeeBeastie
Summary: tracing one warm linethrough a land so wild and savage





	wild & savage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [medusine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/medusine/gifts).



> Written for the lovely Medusine as my Pirate Santa 2018 contribution! I hope you enjoy, it was really fun to write. 
> 
> Lyrics in the summary are borrowed from the song ‘Northwest Passage’ by Stan Rogers. It doesn’t fit this fic exactly but it’s been stuck in my head the past few days as I’ve written it, so there you go!
> 
> I tagged this Crossovers & Fandom Fusions because I borrowed the character of Declan Harp from the show Frontier for part of this fic. The timeline of that show and the timeline of BS don’t quite match up, but just go with it, okay? I tagged it for Canon Divergence because in this version, Silver doesn’t find Thomas (not for lack of trying though), and Silver and Madi don’t end up together either. 
> 
> Rated M because there’s a not very explicit sex scene at the end.

“Canada?”

“Canada.”

Flint rubs one hand over his head, scrubbing his palm along the bristles of hair. He’s thinking about it, Silver can tell. Considering. 

“We’ve got nothing tying us here,” Silver reminds him as gently as possible. The war is unwinnable, Madi has made it clear to Silver that as much as she loves him they have no real future together, and Silver’s attempts to locate one Thomas Hamilton have proven completely fruitless. “We can’t stay in Nassau any longer without risking our lives. We have to go _somewhere_.”

“But...Canada? Why there, of all places to go?” Flint asks, dubious. 

“I have a contact there by the name of Declan Harp. He can help us.”

“Help us...?”

“Disappear.”

Flint shifts his weight, furrows his brow. His upper lip curls as he stares, unfocused but intense, into middle distance somewhere over Silver’s left shoulder. 

“No,” he intones at last, firmly but not unkindly. “I’ve endured losing what I thought was my permanent home more than once already in this life; I shan’t do so again,” he says with a certain finality that even Silver isn’t keen to argue against. 

“It is your choice to make,” he acquiesces as Flint sits down at the table, his chair scraping the floor. He stretches his long legs out as Silver makes himself useful fetching a bottle of black rum and two cups. “But I will be on that vessel when she leaves in a few days’ time, make no mistake,” he informs him as he sits down heavily opposite him and pours them each a drink. “You may accompany me if you like.”

So follow several days of bickering and dithering and general carrying on. 

“You’ll never survive in Canada! The winters there are more gruesome than any you’ve ever experienced before. You’ll freeze to death,” Flint says one morning, stalking naked back and forth at the foot of their bed in the bright, tropical light of dawn. 

“How d’you know what manner of winters I’ve experienced? You don’t,” Silver says muzzily before Flint can reply, then rolls over onto his belly and buries his face in his pillow with a groan. 

“How do you even know this Harp character?” Flint asks over supper the evening before Silver is to leave Nassau. “He could be out for your money. Or your life, or both. You don’t know that he’s trustworthy.”

Silver tips his head back and laughs, so loud and for so long that he can feel tears of mirth stinging his eyes. 

“As if I surround myself with completely trustworthy types now!” he exclaims when he can speak again, giggling, pink-cheeked. “I can defend myself very well, you saw to that. Besides, I’ll be fine with Declan, he’s a decent man and I’ve known him for years.”

Flint snorts, shakes his head, and mutters something unkind under his breath. Silver pretends not to hear it. 

The morning Silver leaves, he packs his meager possessions slowly, perfunctorily, giving Flint time to do the same should he so choose. But once he’s finished and the time is drawing near, he sees no evidence that Flint is going to follow. He’ll be making the long journey alone, it seems. 

Flint does do him the courtesy of walking him down to the docks, his arm twined in Silver’s. 

“Well,” Silver says, pulling away to turn and face him once they arrive at the vessel that will bear him to Canada, a rather small ship called _Unicorn_. Dubious, but he has no other options. “I suppose this is goodbye,” he murmurs, feeling suddenly sick and hot all over. 

“I can’t let you go alone,” Flint says suddenly, with surprising tenderness. He brushes the back of his right hand against Silver’s whiskered cheek. “I...I’m going with you.”

“Really?” Silver asks before he can stop himself, his breath catching in his throat. “James...you’ll go to Canada with me?”

“Yes,” Flint murmurs, frowning even so. “I’ll go home and get my things, don’t let the ship leave without me. I can’t let you freeze alone, or be murdered by some nefarious fur trader.”

The journey takes weeks, possibly even months. So long, Silver loses track. They leave the sunny and more or less welcoming shores of Nassau, travel at sea for what could for all he knows be several years, and finally, exhaustedly arrive in Canada. 

It’s autumn by then, not quite full winter yet but bitter cold regardless, the threat of snow looming large. Declan Harp meets them at the docks when _Unicorn_ makes her glorious arrival. 

“Will! William MacDonald!” he exclaims when he sees Silver, and grabs him in a bear hug so fierce it makes his ribs creak. Harp is a bearded, broad-shouldered giant of a man, half Irish and half Cree, with striking eyes and a noticeable scar through one eyebrow. He wears an oversized fur coat that, combined with his long dark hair and generally swarthy appearance, makes him rather closely resemble a bear. 

“It’s, ah, John Silver now, actually,” he gasps when Harp finally lets go, catching his breath. He’d forgotten how fierce Harp’s embrace can be. 

Harp raises the eyebrow with the scar in it. “Not _the_ John Silver, the one I’ve heard about - a fearsome pirate who’s been terrorizing the West Indies? Seven feet tall, eyes like the devil himself?” he asks, eyeing Silver skeptically. 

“Certainly not, entirely different man,” Silver says, pointedly not looking directly at him. Harp laughs. 

“Mm. And who’s this? You didn’t say anything in your letter about traveling with a companion,” he says, gesturing to Flint. 

“This is my— this is James Flint,” Silver says. The two men shake hands, and if Flint is at all intimidated by Harp’s stature and/or demeanor, he doesn’t show it. If anything, he seems to be sizing him up, as though considering how to best him in a fight. Typical. “I came to know him in the Bahama Islands.”

“Hmm,” Harp says, squinting like he thinks he might’ve seen Flint before but can’t quite place him. “Well, let’s not waste any time, then. It’s going to snow tonight, and I want to get you to your cabin before it’s dark. I’ve set you up with enough to last you about a month, but after that, you’re on your own. I have other business to attend to.”

“Thank you again. I owe you greatly for this,” Silver says to Harp as he climbs on his horse with help from Flint.

“I know you do,” Harp says cheerfully, and as they set off on horseback away from the docks, Silver wonders what exactly he’s gotten himself into, owing a man like Harp such a large favor. 

They finally arrive at their new home near dusk. The cabin is small, but well-stocked and almost cozy. There’s a fireplace to keep them warm, and Harp has outfitted them with enough provisions that they won’t need to leave for some time. 

“I’ll come by again in the spring to check you’ve survived the winter,” Harp says matter-of-factly as he helps Silver unload his possessions from his horse. Flint makes as though to grab Silver’s arm and steady him; it’s even colder up in the mountains than it was down by the water and the ground is already slick and frozen. Silver shakes him off irritably, worn out from the long journey and in no mood to be treated like an invalid. 

“We appreciate all your help, Declan,” he says, moving awkwardly across the uneven, slippery terrain to the cabin’s front door.

They brought so little with them, unpacking it all takes no time whatsoever. Soon, they’ve finished. Harp stands in the doorway of their cabin for a long moment, stooped over since he’s a bit too large for the cabin itself. 

“Well. Good luck, Long John,” Harp says with finality, and then he’s gone, the door thumping shut behind him. 

Silver stands and looks around the cabin, taking in the fireplace, their belongings and provisions, the bearskin rug on the floor. He realizes after a moment that he can see his breath in the cold air. 

“I’ll start a fire,” Flint murmurs, having noticed the same. Silver nods and leaves him to it, walking stiffly (the cold, he’s quickly re-learning, is no friend to his body) to the bedroom to put his things in order. 

He doesn’t remember lying down on the narrow bed, but he wakes there, hours later in the full dark. Someone has spread a faded patchwork quilt over him and removed his one boot. He sits up with a groan and makes his way slowly to the main room of the cabin, pausing at the sight of Flint, ensconced in a ratty armchair, reading a book by firelight. 

“How long was I asleep?” Silver asks, and Flint starts, pulled abruptly away from his book by the sound of Silver’s voice. 

“A few hours. I left you some supper,” Flint replies, gesturing. Silver fetches himself a bowl of stew and settles into the mismatched chair next to Flint’s. 

“You didn’t have to put a blanket on me and take off my shoe,” he says as he eats with his fingers, still feeling prickly about Flint coddling him so. 

“It was cold, and I didn’t want your filthy boot on our bed,” Flint says, harrumphing and sinking deeper into his chair, attention firmly on the book again. Silver rolls his eyes once he’s sure Flint isn’t looking at him anymore. 

Once he finishes his supper, Silver heaves himself up and goes to the front door to look outside. He’s met by a veritable wall of snow, the bank more than half his height already. 

“James,” he says, turning to regard him over his shoulder. “It’s snowing. Quite a bit. I think...I think we’re snowed in.”

Flint glances up, his brow furrowing at the sight of all the snow. He shuts his book and stands, then walks over to stand next to Silver. He rests one hand lightly on his shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. 

“So it would seem,” he murmurs. “Luckily, your friend Harp included a bottle or three of whisky among the provisions he left us. Shall we?” he asks, gesturing to the bearskin rug in front of the hearth. 

“We shall,” Silver agrees. He shuts the door and makes himself comfortable on the rug near the fire, stretching his leg out with a groan. Flint sits next to him, making a noise like ‘oof,’ and takes a sip of the whisky before handing the bottle to Silver. 

“Good lord, this tastes awful,” Silver spits after his first sip, grimacing. 

“Yes, but it’s alcohol,” Flint points out judiciously, taking another sip. 

“Twill serve,” Silver agrees grimly. 

Between the two of them, as the frigid night wears on, they finish most of the bottle of whisky. Sometime around midnight, if he had to guess, Silver finds himself overly warm from the alcohol and the proximity of the fire, and begins to strip off his clothes. Flint protests at first, makes a valiant effort to stop him because _winter_ and _cold_ and _really, John_? But eventually he seems to decide that if he can’t beat him, he’ll join him, and soon enough they’re both naked, sprawled on the bearskin rug facing each other with whisky on their breath. 

“This is insanity,” Flint says with a crooked grin, and chuckles at Silver. “Fleeing to Canada, living in this cabin, trusting Harp - it’s all just a string of terrible ideas.”

“It is, and we may yet die, but what a pleasant way to go,” Silver says, grinning back.

He reaches for Flint, who comes closer willingly, and they rapidly lose themselves in each other, their soft cries of pleasure echoing through the small cabin. They haven’t been able to steal so much as a moment alone during the voyage, and rediscovering Flint is a joy unlike any Silver’s experienced before. Being held in his embrace, feeling his teeth on his neck - something deep within Silver relaxes, and clicks softly back into place. 

He isn’t sure how, but he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that they’ll survive the night, and the winter besides. They’ll be there, alive and well, when Harp returns in the spring.

Alive and well, and truly happy.


End file.
